


In the mood

by maybeillride



Series: Songfics [7]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - World War II, Captain!levi, Extremely light reincarnation feels, Flirting, General!Erwin, Gift Fic, M/M, Shameless excuse for a little WWII Eruri, Who knew big band music was such a turn-on?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:11:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9840113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeillride/pseuds/maybeillride
Summary: And then Levi sees the man.More accurately, he comes swaying side-to-side into Levi’s field of vision, leading some laughing woman and laughing back down to her. He’s practically a giant, for starters – over six-foot, easy, so muscular he’s packed into his uniform without an inch to spare. Between his height and build, and his white-blond hair glowing in the lights, he may as well have stepped off a recruitment poster. Screw Uncle Sam.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [popnographic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/popnographic/gifts), [brainindacloudz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainindacloudz/gifts).



The dancefloor is beautiful from where Levi sits, leaning on an elbow at one of the little round tables packed around its edges. Out here on the fringe there’s little light, giving plenty of opportunity for couples to canoodle, guys to laugh in raucous groups blowing off steam for the first time in too long, shy guys to nurse their beer and quietly rubberneck like him. The dancefloor is blazing in comparison, the old ballroom’s low-hanging chandeliers casting a glow over the sweaty, gyrating mass of humanity. Quite a sight.

He was out there himself just once tonight, dragged to dance by a woman who approached his table and demanded in broken English that he join her, as a friend giggled at her side. Liquid courage always did the trick; her breath was warm on his cheek when he folded her into his arms, warm with some too-sweet liquor, and her eyes were heavy, half-lidded, makeup blurry at the edges. Her voice was blurry too, murmuring drunken French nothings into his ear. The part of him that found a dark joke in everything laughed inside, at just how much she was barking up the wrong tree with him.

But he treated her right just the same, swaying them smoothly to the band’s slow number, throwing in a few gentle spins. As the tune wound to a close she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight, and wouldn’t let him go for three more songs. Thankfully, he was able to escape when her even-tipsier friend pulled her off someplace. He was glad to return to his adopted table in peace, sipping a glass of cheap red wine and watching the show.

For this one night, he has nothing to worry about, no one to punish, nothing to fear. Pretty much nothing going on upstairs. It’s as close to peace as he can recall.

Then the band launches into _that_ song, a Glenn Miller hit from a few years back, a far more innocent time. One of those tunes with a bouncing bassline that grabs your feet and gets them tapping, a whirling horn part that puts a big stupid grin on your face. One that makes you forget your troubles, almost forget there’s a war on at all.

And then Levi sees the man.

More accurately, he comes swaying side-to-side into Levi’s field of vision, leading some laughing woman and laughing back down to her. He’s practically a giant, for starters – over six-foot, easy, so muscular he’s packed into his uniform without an inch to spare. Between his height and build, and his white-blond hair glowing in the lights, he may as well have stepped off a recruitment poster. Screw Uncle Sam.

The tune builds to a happy crescendo, the crowd applauds up at the band, and the man makes a little bow to his partner. Levi is surprised when they split off from each other, the man striding away towards the big doors propped open on the far side of the ballroom.

Levi is up and after him without even pausing to finish his drink. When he makes it out the door he finds himself on a veranda, wide and long. It takes him longer than it should to find the mysterious officer, his eyes needing time to adjust to the darkness. The man is around the corner, tucked away from the noise of the band and the crowd drifting through the open doors. He’s tilting his head as he lights a cigarette. Levi slides up next to him.

“Can I get a light?” he asks, pulling his pack of Luckys out of his breast pocket. The man turns, eyes wide as if Levi managed to catch him by surprise. Then his face relaxes into a polite smile, one that’s all business and yet shoves him from just “handsome” into “matinee idol” territory. Levi somehow keeps himself from staring like a dope. But just barely.

“Sure thing. Feels good to get some air, doesn’t it?” The man flicks his lighter for Levi, cupping the flame with his other hand against the light evening breeze. His hands are so big – strong, their backs ridged with veins – that they cover his whole cigarette.

Levi pulls back, thanking the man with a nod. The man nods back and they turn to lean on the railing, side-by-side.

It’s a cool night, the waning moon a weak sliver in the sky above. Levi’s smoke is a point of heat in his hands. The silence between them stretches out for a while.

“You here with anyone in particular?” Levi finally asks, keeping his tone carefully neutral. The man’s cigaratte crackles as he takes a drag.

“Not at all. To be honest, I’m not a fan of these things. But when my CO drags me here it’s tough to say no.” Levi glances over; the man’s smile is rueful as he hunches over on his elbows. He glances back and gives Levi a raised eyebrow. “They argue it’s important to make an appearance, good for morale, all that. But I keep catching myself looking at my watch, waiting for when I can get back to base and put my feet up.”

“So, a real killjoy, basically,” Levi points out, heedless to the row of medals marching across the other man’s broad chest. He’s chatting with a general here, but there’s something about the privacy of their little spot, the vaguely conspiratorial look on the man’s face, that gives him permission to overreach.

There’s an off-script moment then, the man turning from the rail to look at him head-on, his gaze level and calculating. Levi stubbornly holds his position, pretending to gaze out at the empty street as if he _doesn’t_ know the precise weight of the general’s eyes on him, moving from his profile down his own scrawny form in its own uniform, one leg casually crossed over the other.

The man breaks it, reaching his hand boldly into Levi’s willful little space. “Brigadier General Smith.” His cigarette bobs in the corner of his wide mouth as he speaks. “And you’re Captain…?”

Levi surrenders his hand without even bothering to pretend at coyness anymore, and Smith’s palm is smooth against his own, and pleasantly warm. As they shake – like they’re agreeing to a deal Levi hasn’t seen the terms for yet – he’s struck by the potential of these hands. How they might feel, smoothing down the length of his back, folding around his cock, holding his chin in place as this man leans in to take his mouth…

Levi almost forgets to answer him.

“Ackerman. Third Battalion.” Smith still hasn’t let him go, squinting through the smoke as if he’s trying to place him from somewhere. He wants to laugh, to tell his commanding officer to quit looking, if only he wasn’t seized by the same thought. Of course it’s possible that Levi’s seen him before at some function or another, standing like the ultimate soldier in front of them all and proving with his very presence that they’re all in good hands. But Levi doesn’t think so – there isn’t much cause for the Brigadier General to give pep talks to rank and file like him. He simply doesn’t have the time.

No, it’s uncanny, the way Smith is so familiar, all of a sudden. It’s déjà vu, the strongest Levi thinks he’s experienced in his life. And the other man looks like he’s feeling it too.

“Hmm. Third Battalion… I’ve heard good things about your unit, Captain. Best kill stats in the brigade.”

“Not that that’s anything to be proud of,” Levi retorts, hotly, stomping his butt underfoot, and Smith _laughs,_ throws his blond head back and fucking laughs, as if he’s throwing all the rules out the window.

“Well, now I know why you’ve got such a squad, with someone like you teaching them. I almost pity the Germans. _Almost._ ” And his grin is fierce, ruthless, a gleam in his eye that Levi can’t explain.

Then Smith leans in, fast and assured, and Levi’s senses are assaulted in a confusing rush – his cologne tickles Levi’s nose; his hand feathers almost teasingly across the softness of Levi’s buzzcut; his eyes are dark and wide; and his mouth is hot against Levi’s, tasting of smoke, an undercurrent of red wine.

Their kiss is quick – it’s madness to share any intimacy on a public street, no matter how deserted it is this late at night. Smith’s hair is still laquerred perfection as he pulls back, and Levi is grabbed by the urge (the _need_ ) to run his hands through. To see this powerful and controlled man all mussed-up.

“Can we get out of here?” Levi husks, his voice on the edge of failing him. Smith smiles down. It makes him look so young, like a teenage kid in costume for Halloween.

“I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me that all night,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to "In the Mood" the other day and had the random thought: how cute would it be if Erwin and Levi were dancing to this at somebody's wedding (say, Mike and Nanaba's)? Then how much cuter would it be if Levi would come out with a proposal to Erwin at the end of the song? Then proceeded to scrap the entire idea once "1940s Eruris" entered my mind. Ah, well. These 2 are already eternally married, anyway ;)
> 
> Thanks to my 2 lovely giftees for understanding the joy and pain of this ship. And thanks to you for reading!


End file.
